Black Candle Read online

  “Soon?”

  Another nod. Damn it.

  “Can you lead me to her?”

  This time, a head-shake, no.

  Sully knew he’d never survive it if anything happened to Dez because of him. And he could try, and try hard, to ignore the dead. But he couldn’t turn his back on the living. And, for now at least, that included Sparrow.

  “I’ll help you, all right? I just need to deal with some stuff here. I won’t be long.”

  Eva’s voice, sounding from over his shoulder, made Sully jump. “You’re talking to one of them, aren’t you?”

  Sully hadn’t had a chance to answer before Eva turned toward what, to her, would just be empty air. “You leave my family alone, you hear me? They’re mine, not yours. Your problems aren’t ours, and it’s not up to us to fix them.”

  “Eva, you realize you’re a police officer, right?”

  “Shut up. Is she the one who pushed Dez?”

  “No. It wasn’t her.”

  Eva’s eyes widened. “God, how many are there?” Again, she didn’t wait on a reply before returning attention to the ghost. “If you hurt anyone I love, I swear to God I’ll have you exorcised.”

  “Eva?”

  “What?”

  “She’s gone. And, just so you know? You can’t exorcise ghosts. That’s demons.”

  “Feels like the same thing to me.” Eva’s expression lost its fury. “You said she’s gone but it’s not for good, is it?”

  Sully forced what he could of a smile. There was no point answering. She wouldn’t want to hear what he had to tell her.

  “Can we talk for a minute? In the room?”

  Sully followed Eva and took the seat on the couch she was patting beside her. She met his eye, but only for a moment, shifting to stare at the wall across the room. The moment of eye contact was long enough that he could see something inside her had broken.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said the things I said to you a few minutes ago. You know I love you, right?”

  She wouldn’t see him nod, so he answered in words. “Yeah.”

  “And I know you care about us as much as we do you.”

  “You guys are everything to me.”

  For some reason, that drew a noise from Eva’s throat that sounded suspiciously like a choked sob. But Eva didn’t break, sucking back her emotion and concealing the pain beneath a mask of stone. “I don’t want to say this to you, but I need you to give us some space. Dez adores you, but he has a daughter to worry about. I know you can’t help the things you see, and I know you feel like you have a duty to them, the same way Dez and I have a duty to protect the public while we’re on the job. But you need to do something for me, for Dez, even for yourself. If you’re in the middle of something like this, then I don’t want you coming around or asking for his help. If anything happened to him, it would destroy all of us. Me, Kayleigh, your parents, you. All of us. He’s our heart, Sully, and if he stops beating, we’re all lost. Do you understand?”

  Sully was working past the lump in his own throat, but hadn’t quite gotten there when he choked out the words she needed to hear. “I understand.”

  The doctor chose that moment to come in, and it was just as well they were in a hospital waiting on word about a loved one as that would provide adequate explanation for the tears in both their eyes.

  There was good news, at least. No sign of a head injury and no indication of any damage from Dez’s having gone briefly without air. The doctor—one it appeared Dez and Eva knew, likely through work—wanted him here for another few hours to monitor him, and advised Dez book off sick for the night shift he was supposed to be starting soon. But all in all, it seemed Dez had avoided major repercussions from his near-drowning.

  The doctor left after providing the location of Dez’s room in the ER.

  And, for Sully, there was only one thing left to say. “Tell Dez I love him, okay, Eva? And tell him I’m sorry.”

  The iris petals were still on the floor outside the soft room door as Sully walked down the hall.

  Out the sliding glass doors.

  Out into the storm.

  14

  There was no point beating around the bush. If Marc Echoles was the man responsible for the deaths of Breanna Bird and Gabriella Aguado, then that was where Sully was going.

  The problem was, he didn’t know where to go.

  It was closing in on seven in the evening, and the doors to the university’s arts building were locked tight. He pulled out his phone, doing a quick 4-1-1 search of the name, but discovered Marc was unlisted. Naturally. Anyone who was a practicing Wiccan was likely to want to remain unlisted in order to avoid the freaks—both occultists and Christian zealots—who might come banging down his door.

  Ordinarily, this was the point at which Sully might ask Dez, Eva or Flynn to check Marc’s address, an easy enough task since it had been the location of a break-in a year ago. Now that was no longer an option.

  But that gave him a thought. It had been a college kid the police had picked up for the incident, so it was likely at least a few students knew where Marc lived.

  The next problem would be figuring out where to find them.

  Sully had learned earlier that Marc was the professor of two sociology classes: social deviance and history of the occult. Sully could start by picking his way through gatherings of students in dorm common areas or the university’s bar. Or he could take what he hoped would be the quicker approach.

  While most of the buildings were closed, the library wasn’t one of them. As he sloshed through the lobby to a set of elevators, he added his own wet footprints to numerous others. Final papers were more or less in now, and it was time for students to start cramming for summer session exams.

  A board next to the elevator told him what he needed to know, and he made his way up to the fourth floor where the sociology and psychology sections were. From there, it was just a matter of picking his way through the stacks until he found the right area.

  He located it near the back of the library, a couple rows in. There was no one currently in the stacks here, where books on the occult and new age were kept, but there were a handful of students sitting at the tables. From a gap between books and upper shelf, Sully scanned the students, trying to catch a glimpse of book titles. Unfortunately, most of the books were open, so that was out of the question.

  The solution came in the form of a pentagram, a small silver pendant that dangled from a black velvet choker around the neck of a girl with long, glossy black hair and ear buds dangling down the front of her black shirt. Turning back to the shelf, Sully scanned them for something he could use as an icebreaker. He took his time, working hard to summon up the courage to head over there and speak with her. He’d never been good at approaching people he didn’t know, let alone pretty girls, and it felt even worse given he was going in with a lie.

  He knew how to lie; there had been times in his life he’d had to. He hated doing it, but there was no getting around it. Not tonight.

  He located and pulled out a book about the Salem witch trials and circled the stacks, approaching the girl with the choker. He could make out the sound of a Rob Zombie song coming from the earphones, but she still glanced up at his approach.

  “Mind if I sit here?” he asked in his library voice, indicating the chair opposite her.

  The girl grinned and shook her head a little too fast. Sully had never been much of a judge of these things, always felt he was either too thin when next to Dez, that his hair was too shaggy, or that he wasn’t outgoing enough to last in the dating scene. And yet, he never seemed to have trouble finding girls who looked at him the way this one was right now, smile lingering around her lips as she pulled the earbuds from her ears.

  It seemed Rob Zombie was taking an intermission.

  He was still trying to figure out how to start the conversation in a way that wouldn’t immediately give away his purpose when she settled the problem for him.


  “Salem witch trials, huh?”

  “Yeah. I saw a show on it and was thinking about taking a class in that area. I’m just fumbling around right now with a bunch of classes that don’t mean anything to me.”

  “Well, as it happens, you’ve just sat next to an expert. I can—”

  She was interrupted by a sharp shushing from an annoyed young woman at the next table.

  Sully’s tablemate rolled her eyes and leaned over to whisper to him. “Tell you what. Leave the book and come with me. I’ll buy you a coffee and tell you anything you ever wanted to know about witches.”

  “Aren’t you studying?”

  “If I read another line, I’m going to start looking for a window to jump out of. I need a distraction, and you’re a good one. Come on.”

  There was no time for talk on the way to the campus coffee house—open and doing decent business thanks to the cramming students—as the wind and rain now held so much force they were forced to sprint.

  They ordered coffee, Sully getting the strongest he could find given his expectation he could easily be up all night on this search. A table at the back came open just as they got their order, and Sully’s companion made a beeline for it, achieving a narrow win over a cranky-looking young guy who’d just come in from outside.

  “So what’s your name?” she asked, taking a measured sip of her coffee.

  “Sullivan. What’s yours?”

  “Takara, but I prefer to go by Ara. My parents ….” She didn’t elaborate, as if that statement said it all.

  “So, not to assume or anything, but are you a practicing witch?”

  “I dabble, I guess. I’m not part of a coven or anything. But I read a lot, and I’ve tried out a few spells.” She broke into a coy smile. “I’m hoping maybe one of them actually worked.”

  It dawned on Sully what she meant, and he made a show of focusing on his coffee. Where Dez panicked when forced to talk about the occult or supernatural, Sully dreaded conversations like this. Not that he wasn’t interested; Ara was incredibly beautiful. But there was something unnatural to him in that type of chat, a pretence he’d never been able to master.

  “You’re shy,” she said, picking up on the crush of signals he knew he was emitting without trying. “That’s cute.”

  He managed a smile—and that would be about all he’d manage unless he could successfully steer this conversation back to his intended topic.

  “You said you know about witchcraft,” he said.

  She laughed, and he found he liked the sound. “Okay, okay, point taken. What do you want to know? Ask me anything.”

  He’d given it some thought prior to approaching her at the library, and decided he’d have to play it through a bit. He asked a couple questions and let her ramble a bit about pagan religious history, the birth of Wicca and the historical persecution of women and social misfits. He didn’t have to feign interest, but he did find he struggled to hang onto her words. The longer he sat here, the more he was drawn in by her deep brown, almond-shaped eyes, how they sparkled when she laughed ….

  “You still with me, Sullivan?”

  “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just didn’t sleep much last night. Listen, I was doing some checking into classes and I noticed Marc Echoles teaches some stuff in this area. Are you familiar with him?”

  “Oh, yeah. Everyone knows Marc. He’s your man if you want to learn about anything pagan or occult. And he practices the craft too, so there’s that.”

  “Didn’t I hear someone broke into his house last year?”

  “Yeah, some nut job, probably looking for something to pawn for drug money.”

  “Does he live near here?” Sully was grasping, he knew. No way this was a natural topic of conversation. But Ara’s suspicions didn’t seem to have been triggered.

  “Yeah, actually. There are a few professors who bought up places around here. Marc’s is on Brightmore Crescent, only about three blocks away. Kind of a fitting place for a practicing witch, given that it kind of looks like a miniature castle. It’s got a turret and everything. Naturally, the turret is where he keeps his altar. Not that I’ve seen it firsthand or anything, but that’s what people say.”

  She leaned closer, grinning as if about to impart a delicate conspiracy. “Some people even say he performs human sacrifices. Houses around here have old stone cellars and solid foundations. People could scream for hours in the basement, and no one would ever hear them.”

  Sully guessed he looked how he felt as Ara broke into a wild giggle. “You should see your face. It’s just a story, Sullivan. No one actually believes it, you know.”

  And that, right there, could be just the problem. If it were true, and no one believed it, who could say how much Marc Echoles had gotten away with already?

  Prying himself away from Ara only after accepting her phone number, Sully headed back out into the rain and hoofed it over to Brightmore Crescent.

  He was thoroughly soaked through within minutes, a state that was fast becoming second nature. The storm would have to let up eventually, and Sully couldn’t wait for the moment when his clothing didn’t feel like it weighed more than he did.

  Ara hadn’t provided an address, and Sully didn’t dare ask for one. It was welcome surprise enough that he’d made it as far as he had, finding someone who knew how to find the professor.

  And Ara’s directions and description proved more than enough. Sully forced himself to walk rather than run through Brightmore Crescent, not wanting to stick out more than he already did. No one would willingly be out in this right now, at least no one with all their mental faculties intact. The last thing he needed was to have the police show up and start questioning him as a suspicious person.

  Although, if he were honest, the idea of having some armed backup nearby didn’t feel like such a bad thing right now.

  The turreted house was easy to find on the small crescent as the architecture appeared unique to this property. Sully could make out a couple lights on inside, one somewhere toward the back of the house on the main floor, visible through what he imagined was a living room window; the other up in the turret itself.

  Sully didn’t stand there long, ducking through an open wrought-iron gate framed by a pair of elm trees. Leaning against one of the thick trunks, he sought to conceal himself in the shadow created by a nearby streetlight. He needed a moment to get his head screwed on before he attempted an approach. If he was going in there, he needed to be ready for anything.

  Naturally, the power chose that moment to go out, lights disappearing from the windows, streetlights extinguishing in one fluid blink. It should have been a relief for someone hiding in shadow, waiting for the solidification of courage that might not ever happen to any satisfying extent. And yet Sully was unnerved by the distinct feeling he was being watched. Being seen.

  The proof came not a minute later.

  “Come inside, Sullivan. You’ll catch your death out there.”

  Sully froze, fingers gripping at the bark of the tree behind him as his breath caught. He knew it was pointless, and yet here he was, stalled out next to the tree when it was plenty clear he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “Sullivan? I know you’re by the tree. I can see you. Come inside.”

  And so he moved. One foot in front of the other as he did as told. This was why he’d come here, to find a way inside the house of the tattooed man. Only now, he wasn’t so sure. No one knew he was here.

  Marc Echoles stood on the other side of the door, waiting patiently in the entryway with one of those solid-looking flashlights. One that had a long, heavy, stainless steel grip that could brain a guy in three blows. Sully crossed the threshold, stepping into the pool of light Marc created for him on the floor.

  “You’re in luck,” Marc said. “I’d just boiled some water for tea when the power finally gave up the battle. It’s been flickering for the past hour, trying to make up its mind. Take off your boots and your jacket. I’ll show you to the main floor bathroom and get you somet
hing dry to put on. Then you can tell me what brings you here.”

  It wasn’t until Sully was in the half-bath, peeling off his wet layers, that it occurred to him he hadn’t yet uttered a word to Marc.

  The professor had given him a pair of drawstring fleece pyjama bottoms, an oversized hooded sweatshirt and a pair of thick wool socks. Sully waited a couple minutes, standing there naked as he both allowed his skin to dry and tried to think through what he would do should this situation take a turn for the worse. He took the opportunity to check his phone, finding one missed call from Eva but nothing more, suggesting Dez was still in the ER and had yet to discover Sully had left. Of course, it could also mean Dez had rethought the situation and decided he was pissed at his brother after all for almost getting him killed, but that was a possibility Sully didn’t think he could face right now. He’d have plenty of apologizing to do later, regardless, and it would be easier if Dez was willing to sit and hear him out.

  Eva had left a voicemail, and Sully reluctantly listened in case it contained an update about his older brother. “Sully, I need you to give me a call. Dez is fine, but I’m not. I was talking out of my ass earlier and I’m sorry. Please, just call me, okay?”

  Sully held the phone in his hand, debating whether he should call just to let someone know where he was. After a minute weighing the options, he clicked the phone off and dropped it back into its temporary plastic bag case. Eva had become like a big sister to him, and he knew she and Dez would be over here within minutes—with or without the requisite hospital release—if he filled her in. He’d already almost lost Dez once today; he’d be damned if he let that happen again, to Dez or to Eva. No fear he was currently battling was a bigger beast than that one, the idea of someone he loved being put in danger on his behalf.

  Using the glow of the small flashlight Marc had provided, he put on the dry clothes and prepared to step out of the bathroom. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, then reached back and snagged his phone from the counter, dropping it into the sweatshirt’s right pocket. Even if he called no one, the idea that he could made him feel a little better. He then rifled through his discarded jeans until his hand settled over his foldable pocketknife, and he slipped that, too, inside the pocket—a second, equally welcome reassurance.